


Platonic is Punk as Rock

by swashbuckling_pen



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: AU, Band Fic, Band Manager, Band Romance, Bubbline, F/F, Friend Dynamics, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Marceline and the Vampire Queens, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-08-23 04:59:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16612376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swashbuckling_pen/pseuds/swashbuckling_pen
Summary: Yeah kissing is for the weak.Platonic is punk.(Marceline and the Scream Queens are on tour, en route to the Biggest Battle of the Bands. They made an 'anti-band romance' pact so they won't be distracted from winning.  Enter the new band manager, Bonnibel, whose inexperience but deadly determination may or may not cause the band's success. And Bonnibel is probably the most boring bland brainlord Marceline has ever laid eyes on - so no worries about falling in love...right?





	1. Completely Unboinkable

For today’s occasion, the Scream Queen’s blood red van was scrubbed from its usual coat of dust. The interiors were bereft of its usual inhabitants of beer cans, burnt joints, smelly socks and takeout boxes. The car seats were folded to make room for a makeshift table made from a huge mover’s box, covered by a black cloth.

Marceline was shuffling a pile of papers on the table, her bandmates hovered over her shoulders, looking forlorn.  
“Well, I guess that’s the last of it.” Marceline said, with a deflated sigh. “I can’t believe only five people showed up. Didn’t we like, print a thousand flyers for this?”

“Mar Mar, people don’t usually post job ads on flyers and throw it at people’s faces.” Keila replied, taking the sheaf of CVs away from Marceline’s hands. “I say we go for that thirteen-year-old-kid. Finn seems very enthusiastic.”

“Oh yeah!” Bongo chimed in. “And definitely he’s not Mar’s type. Or any of our types. That’s the only thing we are looking for, right?”

Marceline shot her most venomous glare at the drummer ghost. The reason why they are hiring a new band manager on short notice was often blamed on her. And she did not appreciate it at all.

“If I remember correctly…” Guy stroked his stubbled chin. “Bongo made out with Phoebe, too. Why do even ghosts bother to make out with someone? Aren’t you free from like…the burdens of the flesh or something?”

Angry splotches of blue bloomed on Bongo’s transparent face. “Hey, at least I wasn’t the one who slept with her. You and Mar are the ones wrapped around her pinky. Fighting and slobbering over -”

Marceline snarled as she pushed off the box table and was at Bongo’s neck in the next second. Her nose elongated into a long snout, her large canines grew, dripping with saliva as her head morphed into wolf form.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Keila said, yanking Marceline by the back of her shirt. Bongo blew a raspberry and shot a projectile of ectoplasm spit towards the vampire.

Keila used one of the CVs as a shield. She looked at the goo that slid down the paper with disgust. “Real mature, Bongo. I’d like to remind you all that we all signed the new Band Code? So can we just we focus hiring someone today?”

Just then, a loud knock rattled the van’s door, and a feminine voice seeped in. “Uh, is this the office of the Scream Queens?”

“Come in,” Marceline growled, her face still wearing her wolf face.

The door opened and a young woman stepped into the van. She had wavy hair made of finely spun gum, her features looked like it was shaped by the precise hand of a doll master, all doe-eyed, dainty and sweet. She swept up her pink dress and easily sat, legs folded, in front of the band members with the grace of a queen. She stared at Marceline’s face.

“Oh, a lycopanth hybrid? Or a shapeshifter. I have never seen one up close before…how fascinating. What is the geographic origin of your species?”

The pink-haired woman asked the question as if it was a command, it's blunt tone grated Marceline, and it wasn't the kind of voice she expected from a doll face. The vampire morphed back into her human form. “We’re the one’s asking questions here, Princess.” Marceline injected every ounce of irreverence she could cram into the royal title. “And if you are not here for the job interview, I suggest you skedaddle.”

 

“Oh, I am here for the Band Manager interview alright.” The woman handed over a folder containing what seems to be the thickest CV Marceline has ever laid her eyes on. Keila stole the file immediately away from Marceline’s grasp.

“Excellent, Miss…”

“Bonnibel Bubblegum.” The woman answered, directing her first smile at Keila. “Or just Bonnibel will suffice.”

Keila’s smile grew as she skimmed over the contents of Bonnibel’s CV. Her bandmates hovered over her shoulder.

“CEO of Candy Inc for five years…” Bongo whistled, impressed.

“Head of R&D. Inventor of Candy Clouds…” Guy practically oohed.

“And more importantly, experienced in project management, organisation and handling finances. Wow.” By Keila’s tone, it seemed that the interview was just a matter of formality.

“That’s correct. I was CEO of my own company since I was seventeen. And even before spearheading Candy Inc, I invented the Candy Cloud and other signature products of the company. Previously, I was head of administration, marketing -”

“So why did you leave Candy Inc if you are so good at it?”

All band members glared at Marceline. Guy crossed his arms over his chest and looked like he was restraining himself from strangling the vampire.

“What?” Marceline shrugged. “It’s a standard job interview question.”

“The woman with pointy ears has a point.” Bonnibel coolly replied. Keila snickered as Marceline’s ears twitched self-consciously. “I would ask the same question if I was interviewing someone.” She nodded politely at Marceline. “I was voted out by the Board, they were in the pocket of my Uncle Gumbald – the new CEO. He has been working against me for years while I was too busy in product research and development to notice. I unfortunately lost in a game of politics but not of competency. You are free to research about my company to verify, or contact any of my references indicated there in the CV.”  
“If what you said was true, why aren’t you fighting to get your company back? And why the hell do you want to be our Band Manager?” Marceline arched her brow, and for the first time, her band members were beginning to regard Bonnibel with caution.

Bonnibel chewed the corner of her lip, the first time she has ever shown nerves since sauntering into the interview. She sighed.

“Look. I am a candid candy person so here’s the real deal,” Bonnibel said as she leaned forward and laid her palms flat on her knees. “Your job ad said that the salary isn’t much, but the band manager will get to travel around the world, specifically to Cosmocity where the Battle of the Bands will be. Now, I promise to handle all your bookings, tours, and promotions so you will get a slot in the Battle. But on the side, I will be testing my new products on every city that we go to, and if I have a high success rate, I will set up shop in Cosmocity. You guys will perform and maybe win the Battle – and all of us will be off in our merry ways.”

Bongo clapped. “Sounds like a good deal.”

“Wait, there's no deal yet.” Marceline said.

“How about we ask Bonnibel to step outside first so we can vote in private?” Keila suggested and smiled apologetically to the pink woman. “Give us a few.”

Bonnibel nodded, eyes flicking over to Marceline as if she were a puzzle that perplexed her, before leaving and shutting the van door with as little noise as possible.

“I say we hire her.” Guy proclaimed.

“Yeah, she’s the most qualified person we ever interviewed.” Bonggo agreed.  
“And it’s not as if people are lining up for this job.” Keila sighed, and looked at Marceline. “But we haven’t considered the most important criteria yet…”

“Yeah… are you guys gunna boink her or nah?” Bongo slapped a cold, pudgy hand against Guy’s back.

“She’s not my type. Too bossy.” Guy scowled at the drummer.

“Agreed,” Bongo shivered, as if disgusted by the mere thought of getting it on with the pink woman.

“I don’t even swing that way so no worries about me.” Keila grinned. “Our real worry here is Mar Mar. Did you notice the immediate tension between the two?”

“What tension?” Bonggo scratched his head.  
Guy seemed confused too. “Yeah, it was just two girls power-trippin. Lead singer versus CEO.”

“Oh boys are just so clueless.” Keila muttered. She glanced at Marceline who was suddenly very still, and deep in thought.

“Marceline?” Keila nudged her friend. Unlike Bongo and Guy, she was quite familiar with Marceline’s ticks, they’ve been friends the longest after all.

Marceline simply shrugged her shoulders. “Nah, don’t worry, dude. She has like, zero sex appeal. Totally Unboinkable.”

“Great,” Keila said. “Let’s sign her in then.”

 

\-------------------------------------

Bonnibel triple checked her duffle. Judging from the size of the van, she won’t have the liberty to lug around her Bonnie-sized trunk. So here she is, stuffing the essentials of her existence into a duffle.

Her lab equipment was shrunk into the size of a pencil case via her shrinker prototype. She hoped she would be able to revert it into full size when the time comes. Her product samples and bottled ingredients took most of the bag’s space, as well as her laptop, communicator console and solar panels. She plonked in her laser gun for good measure, in case the wilderness beyond still has some remnants of mutated beasts she encountered when she was younger. She barely has any space left for hygiene stuff and clothes.

She remembered how Peppermint fretted, as the butler ironed her smartest dress shirts, blazers and skirts, all the while muttering how he will avenge her and plot Gumbald’s demise in the most macabre way possible.

She assured Pep that deposing Gumbald will just be a waste of effort and resources. Who knows, maybe this time next year they will have a new company to run - somewhere far far away from Ooo and Candy Inc. Maybe she’ll keep it simple and small this time, focusing on a few niche sweets. She wondered if the Scream Queens would become popular, if they will be willing to represent her brand. A band for her brand.

A picture of the frontwoman’s snarling face swam into mind - eyes that pull you into a whirling vortex, grin full of pointy teeth that looked like it will score skin at the lightest graze.

Maybe not.

There was a lot of mystery to unpack there, and maybe enigma isn’t what she, errr... her brand, needs.

Bonnibel sighed as she reached the deserted parking lot of a derelict mall. She spotted the blood red van with its bat-winged name “Scream Queens” emblazoned on the side, the roof rack was covered in a shell, where she assumed they stored their music equipment. The van sat on the lot where the mall’s shadow loomed long. The sun was making its lazy descent and the first shards of dusky pink and umber orange have slashed through the day canvas.

Her thoughts drifted again to the raven-haired woman, the first to question her capabilities. After the ego-crushing experience of being fired by her own company, she badly needed some validation. Bonnibel had long accepted that not many people will like her pragmatic leadership. But she hoped she would at least form an amicable working relationship with the band. She will be touring with them most of the year after all.

She took a breath before knocking on the van’s door.

The lanky guy with stubble greeted her with a bleary expression, like he was sleepwalking or something. “Band manager’s here.” He grunted.

“The spook’s Bongo, he does sticks.” Lanky guy pointed to the ghost who was tearing through a pack of potato chips, he lifted a transparent hand in greeting. Do ghosts even have a digestive system? 

“Keila shreds lead…”

“Oh hey, Bonnibel.” Keila grinned from her seat, her afro hair tumbled loose from its top bun. Her attention swung back to the cartoon she was watching from a handheld tablet.

“I’m Guy, keyboard dude.” Lanky dude said as he threw himself into a beanbag and slipped on his headphones. His eyes were already closing when he said, “‘Course everyone knows Marceline’s the bass and the face. She’s at the wheel. Sit out front, she’ll give you the lowdown of how this thing works.”

Frowning, Bonnibel wondered how she can clamber gracefully towards the front seat without flashing anyone. She regretted not wearing jeans today. 

As if someone read her mind, the front seat made a mechanical whir as it was slowly being lowered flat, parallel to the floor. 

She adjusted her skirt as she swung a leg up, slightly wobbling in place. A bluish grey hand shot out to steady her, long and cool fingers gripped her upper arm and helped her land on the seat.

As the back rest righted itself against her spine, Bonnibel turned towards the raven-haired woman whose features were obscured by huge sunglasses and a wide brimmed straw hat. Twin scars shone against a pale neck - was it there yesterday?

“Uh, thanks...Marceline.” She said, tasting the roll of the name in her mouth for the first time. She hoped she said it right because the lead singer just faced her, motionless for what seemed like a full minute. Or two. 

Bonnie clasped her hands together to stop herself from fidgeting and shifted her legs under the skirt. “So are you just going to sit there and covertly stare at me?” She blurted.

That seemed to rouse a response. Marceline lifted the sunglasses and perched it on top of her hat.

“You’re wearing a red dress.” Marceline husked as her gaze raked over her neckline, towards the hem of her skirt. The lowered timbre of that voice slid smoothly against Bonnibel’s ears and Bonnie had to stop herself from visibly shivering. 

“Your powers of observation are phenomenal.” She deadpanned. 

“Why thank you,” Marceline let Bonnie’s sarcasm roll away with a shrug. “Word to the wise, red isn’t your colour. Red and pink are the same family, so you look like incest.”

“How does being monochromatic equate to that?” Bonnibel couldn’t grasp the syntax, how can a sentence begin with red and end in incest?

Marceline didn’t respond, and simply dropped some papers on her lap.

“You need to read that and sign before we roll.”

Bonnibel swallowed a retort. She reminded herself to conserve her energy for more important matters than weighing in the opinion of a mercurial woman. She carefully inspected the documents presented. She already signed a one paragraph Services Agreement yesterday so she wondered what this was. 

“The Band Code of Conduct,” Bonnibel read aloud. “First, the music comes first, ego last. Second, R-E-S-P-E-C-T… is there a reason why this is in all caps?”

“You won’t get the reference, just...move on.” Marceline laced her hands behind her head and rested her booted feet on the dashboard. 

Bonnibel’s eyes skated back and forth across the pages, reading some other words that sounded like poorly composed lyrics that more less meant that the band and the manager shouldn’t wage war against each other. Gibber gibber gibber… but the last paragraph caught her attention.

“Band Members, including the Manager, are Absolutely, Totally and Strictly Forbidden to engage in any form of physical intimacy or romantic relationship with each other until the Battle of the Bands Tour is over.” Bonnibel almost laughed. “Well…that will be the least of your worries. I don’t date and I don’t do intimacy.”

“I sure hope you’re right, Princess.” Marceline said, a corner of her lip curling. “After being cooped up in this van for months and months you might even find the detestable quite....appetising.”

“Well, I’m glad I am perfectly immune to your non-existent charms.” 

“Mutual,” Marceline declared with a relieved grin and a high five, which Bonnibel met awkwardly with her palm. “If everything’s good, I need to borrow your hand.”

“Why?” Bonnie asked.

“I need to be the one to put your thumbprint there, as a sign of agreement.”

Puzzled why she couldn’t thumbprint herself, Bonnie warily stretched out her hand towards her.

Marceline’s fangs elongated, her dark eyes glinted crimson. “This won’t hurt, I promise.” She laced her voice with such gentleness, the soft vibrations of it warmed Bonnie’s hand, it momentarily distracted her so that she was completely off guard when a fang suddenly pricked the pad of her thumb.

“What the dip, Marceline?” Bonnibel made a move to retract her hand but Marceline was quick to grab her wrist.

“Bonnibel, please calm down.” The musician soothed the pink wrist she held with her fingers. “I just made you bleed a bit, so you can use your blood to make your print. Okay?”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Bonnie relaxed her hand, and the grip around her wrist loosened. “And why does it have to be a bloodprint?”

Marceline’s fingers carefully wrapped around Bonnie’s thumb, pressing it firmly against the Band Code. The pink woman watched, entranced, as her print flickered a fiery purple before vanishing in a puff of smoke.

“I infused these papers with some Nightosphere magic,” Marceline explained as she let go of Bonnie’s hand. “Anyone who breaks this bloodpact will be imprisoned in one of Nightosphere’s torture chambers....for a month.”

“Math,” Bonnibel muttered, wiping away the tiny blood on her thumb with the hem of her skirt. It was the first time that Bonnie considered she may have miscalculated. She thought that being a Band Manager would be nothing compared to running a company. Now, looking at the roguish grin of Marceline, she realised a wild variable like a vampire with shapeshifting powers, nightosphere magic and who-knows-what-else would make everything completely unpredictable.

Bonnibel believed only the foolish dance with unpredictability. She knew it was a beast that needs to be tamed. She wasn’t able to foresee Gumbald’s moves to dethrone her, she won’t be blindsided ever again. 

With a firm nod, the pink woman resolved to know everything about Marceline. Much like the weather, the vampire is a chaotic system she needs to observe, measure and test before she can create a model to predict her behaviour. 

“I don’t like that mad gleam in your eyes,” Marceline interrupted her thoughts as she turned the key in the ignition. “Watcha thinkin' about, brainlord?”

“You.” Bonnibel gave her a cryptic smile, relishing the nonplussed look that skittered across the vampire. The pink woman turned away and pretended to be more interested in the view that was now rushing past as they drove away from Ooo.


	2. Incoming Catastrophe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the band doesn't listen to their manager

A map was sprawled on the greasy diner table, weighted down at the corners by drained mugs of milkshakes and one dark strawberry syrup. A brown finger traced a line over the map.

It was inching towards midnight, and the band were the only customers in the dingy diner that seemed to appear out of nowhere in the deserted area.

“Marcy, we were supposed to make a left turn here, route 70 to Sandstorm City. We’re about 20 miles off course.” Keila said, jabbing her finger hard on the map as if it would magically transport them there. “What the glob happened?”

“Chill, dude. We’ll just speed-demon style outta here. And it’s not my fault we got lost.” Marceline swung her gaze to the pink woman, who spent most of the dinner on her phone. “If Pinky here pointed out we missed the turn at that time, we might’ve made it.”

Bonnie snapped her phone shut, finally paying attention. “I didn’t know I was supposed to navigate for you. You’re the driver, shouldn’t you be - I dunno - take the initiative? Stop by for directions?”

“I told you, the one on shotgun always navigates. I can grow ten pairs of eyes, but I can’t focus on the road _AND_ read the tiny little squiggly lines on the map!”

“Well, if you were clear about the instructions beforehand then maybe -”

“Guys, shut it.” Guy said, with a yawn. “Keila and I will take the wheel. What time do we need to be in Sandstorm anyway?”

“Sound check at 11 am, right?” Kelia directed the question at Bonnie.

“Actually…” Bonnie was twirling the straw in her empty mug shake. “I was haggling with the event organiser to re-schedule. But the shmuck on the phone -”

“What?!” Marceline threw her hands up in the air. “Why the heck would you do that?! Phoebe confirmed that booking ages ago!”

The silent fury of the group was all directed at Bonnie, any lesser candy person would’ve withered under the intensity. Bonnibel gathered all the steel in her and calmly said, “According to my satellite report, a strong hurricane is about to hit the area at 6 AM this morning. Not only will it devastate the place, no one will come to the concert. And since the point is to get as many votes to get a slot into the Battle of the Bands, I suggested that we reschedule.”

“You have a satellite?” Bongo’s pearly eyes bugged out.

“If the organiser wasn’t worried, then we shouldn’t be, too.” Guy crossed his arms over his chest.

“What did they say anyway?” Keila asked.

Bonnibel sighed. “They said the show will go on tomorrow, and that Sandstorm City has survived worse hurricanes before…”

“Then we should listen to the experts. You know, from the local people who _actually_ live there?” Marceline addressed her bandmates, deliberately ignoring Bonnibel. “So if  you guys are still in, I say we go.”

The Scream Queens nodded.

“We laugh in the face of death! No hurricane can stop the Queens!” Bongo flipped an imaginary long hair over his shoulder.

“Easy for you to say, you are already dead.” Guy snickered. “How did you die, again?”

“Hey no dissing the dead and undead,” Marceline’s dark eyes glimmered red, a menacing grin on her face.

“Guys,” Bonnibel slammed her  palms against the table. It was like wrestling control in the Boardroom all over again. “This is a category five we are talking about. Your equipment is probably not insured - it will be destroyed. All of us, breathing or not, will be buried deep in sand. This is not a joke! As your manager, it is my job to protect you!”

A slender, brown hand settled on Bonnie’s shoulder. She turned to look and found Keila’s earnest face, almost pleading with her.

“We appreciate you trying to look out for us,” Keila chose to ignore the loud snort from Marceline. “But we don’t want to break promises. We agreed to this gig with the Sandstorm peeps even before you came in. We don’t want to disappoint them.”

Bonnie pinched the bridge of her nose and took three deep breaths.

“ _Fine_.” Bonnibel said, her tone anything but.  “Let’s make a pit stop to the grocery. If we are all going to be entombed in sand, the least we can do is not starve to death.”

 

~~~~

* * *

 

  
  


With Guy at the wheel and Keila navigating, the Scream Queens were able to find Route 70. They were two hours away from the venue, and everyone was looking forward to a few hours rest before the show starts.

Marceline was dozing. She was wrapped almost head to toe with a zipped up varsity jacket, tights, elbow length gloves and knee high socks. Bonnibel observed her surreptitiously, over the pages of a book she was trying to read amidst the bumpy drive. Marceline hovered inches above the seats, tossing and turning. Her inky black hair fell away to expose a pale neck directly into a  sun ray that lanced through the windows, the skin smoked upon contact and sizzled black. Bonnibel stood alarmed and was about to take off her own pink cardigan when the vampire, still with eyes closed, hissed and changed position. The charred spots on her neck vanished as soon as she was back in the shade.

“Fascinating.” Bonnibel found herself almost stumbling back into her seat. “I never knew vampires have self-healing powers and could float-sleep.”

“Nah, that’s just Mar. Best not to ask her about it, she gets all...weird,” Bongo mumbled. His face was plastered flat against the window like a pancake. “Yo, Guy! I need my snack stop!”

“But how do you process food when you don’t have a digestive system?” Bonnie said staring at the ghost’s transparent rotund belly.

Bongo turned towards Bonnie, his tufts of eyebrows waggled. “You suuuure you want to know?”

The ghost’s wide grin suggested that he was about to reveal something extremely distasteful.

Before Bonnie could reply,  the van suddenly veered to the right, and sped in reverse into a parking lot.

  
“What the flip!” Marceline screeched as she was bodily tossed into the window where the full blast of the sun scorched her.

“Sorry!” Guy looked over his shoulder from the driver’s seat. “Just lettin Keila know who’s boss. You owe me 20 Ooplahs. I reversed parked in like, 30 seconds.”   
  
“Hah! I’m not payin up for anything less than parallel parking in 30 seconds,” Keila grinned.

“You’re on, baby vamp.”

“Wait, Keila’s also a vampire?” Bonnie saw that the full blast of the sun was doing nothing on Keila’s brown skin.

“Well in a manner of speaking,” Keila grinned, showing off her teeth with two tiny fangs that were barely noticeable.  “You see, me Mum’s a vamp, but dad’s human. They did the do and voila.” She gestured to herself as if it was explanation enough.

“Guys, if this isn’t the snack stop, I will seriously possess you all.” Bongo propelled himself towards the front, plopping himself on Guy’s lap. “Wait, is that a Squezeemart that I see?”

“Yup. Now shove off.” Guy pushed the ghost away into the rolled down, open window of the driver’s seat.  Bongo sped out with a loud “Weeeeee!”

Another hiss in the back indicated that Marceline was once again hit by the sun. “You guys, is it so hard to keep the freakin burnin glob of death outta my face?”

“Sorry, Marce,” Keila shut the windows immediately. She turned to Bonnie and handed her a frilly old, maroon pouch. “Here.”

Bonnie looked at the moth-eaten fabric of the pouch, testing its considerable weight in her hands. “Uh, what’s this for?”

“Well, since you’re the manager, you’ll help us budget our cash. You know, for our supplies and stuff.”

“Uhuh,” Bonnie opened the pouch and saw fats silvers of Ooplah coins and bills haphazardly stuffed into it. “Do you have a ledger? Or a balance sheet that shows what’s in here, and your usual monthly expenditure?”

“Oooh, expenditure,” Guy’s lips twisted into a smirk. “Sounds so professional. Keila, we got expenditure.”

Keila chose to ignore the comment. “Unfortunately none of us are into counting money, as long as we don’t run out we don’t really pay attention to it. Anyway, we get paid after every gig, usually enough for gas money. If we get lucky, we have enough for food and other things. Truthfully Bongo doesn’t really need to eat. I mean, he won’t  _ die _ or anything. Mars eats anything red, even non-food stuff. Guy and I have packed our own beef jerky. So that leaves you..”

“But how about baths? Laundry? Or lodging?”

Someone above Bonnibel chuckled. She looked up to see Marceline floating horizontally above her. Her hair fanned out like swimming tentacles and one of them poked Bonnie on the nose.

“If you wanna roll with us, Princess, you gotta learn to sleep where the music takes us…” Marceline said.

“On the desert...” Keila supplied

“In the mud...” Guy closed his eyes at the memory. “Hey, remember that time we played in Green Goo?”

“And bathing and clean clothes? Completely optional.” Marceline lifted her arms and rested the back of her head against her palms. She let herself land beside Bonnibel. Her armpit inches from the pink woman’s face. “So get a good whiff, Princess. This is the cleanest air you’ll breathe in this trip.”

“Well that’s…” Bonnibel wrinkled her nose and moved away from Marceline. “Revolting and Unhygienic.”

“I think ‘gross’ suits us fine.” Marceline said. “Everyone’s gross in their own way.”

“Yeah,” Guy agreed. “Embrace your inner grossness, Bonnibel.”

“I’m going to buy our supplies.” Bonnie hopped off the van and fled.

“Don’t forget my Red!” Marceline hollered.

“Think you guys just broke her.” Keila said, a frown creasing her brow.

“Nah,” Marceline shrugged. “Something tells me that candy girl is made of tough stuff.”

“Do thine ears deceive me, or did Marceline just paid a compliment to someone?” Guy said in mock shock.

“And to Bonnibel no less!” Keila mirrored Guy’s wide-eyed look, mouth covering her gasp. ”Could it be that her thousand-year-old cold undead heart is finally thawing?”

“Bonnie’s right.” Marceline shuddered. “You guys are Revolting.”

 

* * *

 

 

After Marceline’s fifth grumble, Guy moved the van towards a shadier spot behind Squeezeemart. 

“We should get going soon,” Keila said, checking her watch.

“Want me to get them?” Guy offered.

“Pfft. They’re not babies. They should be -”

Keila was interrupted by Bongo’s hand, which thumped frantically against the passenger door.

“Guys! Guys! Let me in!” The ghost’s face looked paler than the usual.

“Sup, dude?” Marceline asked as Bongo fell into the van the moment she slid open the door.

Wordlessly, Bongo pointed to the window. His fat finger indicated the sky, or where the sky used to be.

“Holy globalls…” Keila muttered.

It was as if a dark blanket was slowly being draped over the blue of the sky. An enormous wall of sand - a thick roiling mass of deep beige, was steadily devouring the horizon, and moving towards them.  

“We need to go, now.” Guy revved up the van and put in gear.

“Wait, Bongo,” Marceline grabbed the ghost’s shoulder. “You didn’t see, Bonnibel?”

“I thought she stayed here?” Bongo peered over Marceline’s shoulder, as if expecting to see the candy woman reading her book at the back of the van.

“Mars, why don’t you fly out and get her?” Keila bit her lip with her tiny fangs. “We need to take cover soon, or we’ll be buried in that thing.”

Marceline sighed and glared at the window.

“Why do I always have to do the people saving thing?” Marceline grumbled. “Bongo, float fast. Go get the Band Manager.”

“Marceline…we don’t have time to argue about this.” Keila implored, her tone urgent. “Just do it.”

“Uggggggghhhhhh!” Was all that could be heard as Marceline slammed the van’s door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> where are all the bubbline writers and readers at?  
> I know a lot of us have moved to she-ra (big ass catradora feels here), but c'mon bubbline..

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh...to come in late for an old ship were most fanfic writers have gone on to work on something else. Where have all the (good) Bubbline stories gone?  
> I am only writing this cuz I want to read something new with Bubbline. And if you happen to enjoy it, please let me know. Or am I just talking to the VOID?


End file.
